


When Everything's Made To Be Broken (I Just Want You To Know Who I Am)

by Lawfuless



Category: Smallville
Genre: Canonical Character Death, During Canon, Friendship/Love, M/M, Memory Loss, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Rejection, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 01:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7412899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lawfuless/pseuds/Lawfuless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he met him, Doctor Fate was always a mystery. Alluring, strange, but always changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Everything's Made To Be Broken (I Just Want You To Know Who I Am)

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't end happy. It follows canon. Which, spoilers, means Shayera will die, Inza will leave Kent's life, Kent will end up in a mental asylum, Carter will try to take care of him, they will find their friends dying, and Kent will die. So, since you know this ahead of time, feel free to continue.  
> Based mostly off the whole possible double meaning of Carter's words. Just going off of what he actually says in the show certainly implies a lot. This is my interpretation of what it COULD mean. So, enjoy.

The man with the tin can on his head. Well, at least, that was his nickname for the strange fellow who popped up every now and then. Since the Justice Society had been roughly started, many heroes had been slowly crawling out of the woodwork to join them. Just yesterday their get-together had had a total of six members. Two more than last time. Sandman was a welcome addition, as was Mister Terrific. Still, that wasn't to say they hadn't tried to recruit him. It was more that they couldn't get a word out of him. Not even Alan, who did time as a radio host had managed to charm a word out of the man. He only spoke in grunts, hums, or other such noises. As though he were worried his identity would be given away by speech alone.

The buckethead- another fond nickname- was helpful when working cases. Always could pinpoint things before they happened, in a similar but less vague way when compared to Dodds. He always seemed to find them first, or left them clues at their favourite haunts in places only they might find. He was the unofficial informant for the team, even if he wouldn't work with them outright.

It was on a day when buckethead had decided to show up that things had gone south. While on his way to an arms dealing, he had found the other to already be about. He had passed off a sheet of paper, detailing the things being sold when they had been spotted. A cry went out, and before he could even think to shield himself from the hail of bullets, the other had jumped in the way, casting out his hands with a vague gesture that resulted in some kind of blast, knocking down the attackers and seemingly vaporizing the bullets. The light-wielding man then sprung forwards, like a cat going for the kill.

He saw the shooter before the other, but hadn't enough time to warn him. A shot to a weak spot. His side. Crimson blossomed, just as another rushed him, knocking him down and bashing the metal helmet against the floor. He winced, knowing exactly how that felt, then swung his ball and chain. He took out the first man, then threw a throwing knife at the gunman on the floor, knocking away his gun. He quickly finished off the others before turning to the man currently bleeding a puddle onto the warehouse floor. He sighed, grabbing him and lifting him. No way could he head to a hospital. Not in that attire. And he wasn't so cruel as to undress him and leave him. He would be labelled a criminal. That wouldn't do. The Brownstone it was.

He flew back, and when he landed was met with several bewildered stares as some of those currently staying at the place were around to see him. He carried the man to a spare room, then got to work. One bullet wound later, he was all set. Save for the head injury. He hadn't any idea how bad it was. Fine to be moved, but bad enough to conk him out. Concussion, definitely. The other stirred, looking around in mild confusion. The sight of him apparently calmed helmet head, as he relaxed a bit.

"You were hit rather hard. I took you back to base to fix you up. However, I am going to need to see your head. Or at very least, your eyes. You took a hit to the head and have been out at least an hour. Probably a concussion. Don't wanna risk it, though." The other looked up. "So, up to you goldie. But you gotta decide and tell me."

"Fate." The words were soft, a low rumble. When he blinked, the other cleared his throat. "My name. Doctor Fate." The man shifted, then did something that startled him into shutting the door with his wing. He reached up and pulled off the helm.

The man, light blond hair that was messy and sweaty from having worn a helm through a fight and blue eyes almost unfocused, looked to him with confusion. "...Where... am I?" Blondie asked. Then the hero looked to the helm in his hand, at his side, then up at him. "Oh. ...He... said he would make sure I got somewhere safer than last time. I guess... Well, never mind. ...Thank you. ....Hawkman, was it?"

Getting a nod, Fate relaxed back. "You have a mild to severe concussion. You're gonna have to take some time off your job if it needs you to do anything specific. And definitely hang up your cape for a bit. ...And no problem. Just repaying you. You, well, saved me. Stopped me from being swiss cheese. So, you know. No problem. And thanks for that." He cleared his throat.

The man nodded slowly. "...May I... Er, may I stay here for a bit? I'm not sure I can move quite yet." Fate asked, putting the helm back on. He shifted something and suddenly blue eyes were visible in the sockets, lit from within.

He laughed, clasping the other's shoulder with a grin, taking off his mask to show the evident delight at that prospect. "We've been waiting to hear that a while... Of course you're welcome here, Fate."

-

When he thought back to it, that was probably when he fell for him. The moment the doctor saved his life. Of course, he was so caught up in Shayera and his destiny he hadn't even considered him until it was rather too late. Married. No kids, but his sibling did, and he watched them enough they might as well have been his. It made him somewhat bitter inside whenever he saw Miss Nelson, for whatever reason. He hadn't realized what it meant.

He had, however, been there when Kent began to forget. Doctor Fate had returned to the Brownstone, heading off on his own after the team had taken out a child-slavery ring. He had followed, wondering what was wrong. The other had slipped off his helm, looking into a window and looked so scared, and so lost. Then he turned around. "Carter?" his voice was soft.

He had immediately come to his side. "What is it, Kent? What's wrong?" he asked, thinking it may have been a vision, or a whisper for the future that had caused this sudden turn of emotions. Instead of an answer, the other broke down, grabbing him in a hug and sobbing. Sobbing out of fear. And regret.

The words, muffled by his chestpiece hit him hard. "I-I can't remember them, Carter. M-my family. I-I don't... I don't remember them." He had sounded so afraid. And He could only hold him tighter. "Why can't I remember them? ....What's going on? ...Where... Where did they go? Why did they go? ...I don't remember..."

"It's okay, Kent. It's okay. Just calm down. I'll find them, and get you back to them." he promised, then tugged the helm back onto the other's head, hiding him away from the team. He led him out the door, and brought him home. Inza had been so worried. He had left, and hadn't come back for a good week. But, hearing he was in costume, she had assumed he was just working a case. Still, she had planned to head over in only a bit to see if she could find him at the home away from home.

These memory lapses got worse as time went on.

-

Kent was standing at the docks. The hero was waiting for something. He settled beside him, but he didn't even turn around. They both had a lot on their minds. His was on Shayera. Kent's was on his fleeting memories. It was the helmet. They knew it now. And yet, he still wore it. Fate had taken to wearing it more often in the events of Hawkgirl's death. He watched with him, in silence. And when he saw what he knew the other saw, they leapt down in unison.

They took out their targets. This was in blatant disregard for the law being passed. Vigilantism was to be outlawed, and if they didn't give up their identities, they would be forced to. They knew this. But for Carter, Shayera's memory pushed him onwards. And for Fate... He would stay by his friend's side. His family's side.

It wasn't too long before they had police knocking at their door. Kent hadn't gone with them to prison. Fate had gone to an asylum for treatment. He had struggled. Tried to get free. But eventually even he had to give up hope. When he was finally freed, he gave up on the idea of a return. Sure, his little criminal record would startle most off, but eventually it was secreted away, and he found a job. Still, he stayed around the Brownstone.

Then, one day, Kent showed up. In secondhand clothing, with the helm in a bowling bag. Nelson had nowhere else to go. They both knew this. So he took him in. Watched over him. Helped him when the pain of amnesia hit too hard. He felt bad when he recalled all the times he had wanted to forget his past lives. This burden.... Was too much on any one person. Kent couldn't stand under that kind of weight.

Still, he loved him, no matter how broken. He held him tight. He tucked him into bed. He cared for him when there was no one else. When everyone had left. He couldn't count how many times he had wanted to just kiss him. If only so that Kent could forget for a moment. So they could let go of their worries. But that was selfish. So he never pushed. Not even when Kent tried to push for it. He kept still as the other pressed close. Then pulled away. He murmured something, probably an excuse, turning away. He wouldn't do that to his friend. He wasn't what he needed.

It would never work between them.

-

The funeral was quiet. A small affair. He had hunted down Inza Cramer- back to her maiden name after missing her Husband for so long, having moved on- and invited her. But she hadn't showed. So he, and a few other close friends watched as the coffin was lowered in, He threw the flower that was supposed to be for Inza. He stayed behind and helped cover the coffin in its dirt prison.

He stood in the pouring rain- it was supposed to be a sunny day- and stared at the mound of freshly shifted dirt and the clean headstone. He waited, then knelt by the rock, hand trailing it. An effort made by all of his friends to give him this one thing. He gently kissed the stone, wishing he hadn't been a fool. Hadn't been so caught up in himself. He stared at the words, then closed his eyes.

Lost in the rain, tears fell to the ground. In memory of a friend. In memory of a lost love.


End file.
